A Whole New Ball Game
by J. Rosemary Moss
Summary: Stand alone sequel to 'Changing Teams.' Neal's new relationship with Peter is heaven, but neither man is making any promises. Meanwhile, they have a new conman to catch--a guy who reminds Neal a little too much of himself. Slash; consensual discipline.
1. Chapter 1

****

A Whole New Ballgame

by J. Rosemary Moss

~oOo~

Mozzie felt himself deflate as he stared at Neal. His friend was all but glowing. Well, that explained things.

Neal had been staying with the Suit and Mrs. Suit since last Thursday night. It was Wednesday evening now—and what happened in between couldn't be more obvious.

Neal must have realized how he felt about the Suit. And the Suit must have realized how he felt about Neal. And they had gone and done something about it.

Did Mrs. Suit know? Probably. Hell, she must be ok with it, or even Neal would have the decency to look guilty.

"What's wrong, Moz?" Neal asked, catching his friend's expression as he set a bottle of wine down on the table.

"Nothing's wrong. You—you just look so happy."

Neal popped the cork and then poured two glasses. "I am. I'm more than happy." He paused to hand Moz a glass. "You were right. I do like the leash—and I like that Peter's holding it. And I'm more than into him."

Moz sank into a chair. "So you're sleeping with him. And he's ok with this?"

"Not entirely," Neal admitted. "He's afraid we're making a mistake. He—look, you know Peter. Sometimes he thinks I'm still a kid. I had to remind him that he wouldn't send a child on dangerous undercover missions for the Bureau."

"What does Mrs. Suit think?"

Neal took a seat. "Elizabeth is amazing. She reminded me that she had Peter first—and then she made up a schedule. I get Peter every Sunday, Monday and Tuesday night, plus one Saturday night a month. Elizabeth has him the rest of the time.

"So . . . this is a 'Big Love' thing and Elizabeth is first-wife?"

"Pretty much."

"And how long do you think this will last?"

To Moz's surprise, Neal fell quiet for a moment. "I don't know," he said, staring down at his wine. "I didn't ask Peter for any promises. He didn't ask me for any either. He didn't even want to hear that I was over Kate—not until I was sure I meant it."

He smiled again, and Moz felt a painful and irrational stab of jealousy. It wasn't as if Neal had ever been his.

"It's funny," Neal continued, a far away look in his eyes. "Kate and I made such extravagant promises."

"Are you over Kate?" Moz ventured.

Neal shrugged. "I don't know if I'll ever be over her—but I've made my choice. I want to stay with Peter. I'll do whatever I can for Kate; I want her safe. But what we had together is finished."

"And Peter doesn't believe that?"

"No. Not yet. He's still afraid I'll run away if she crooks a finger at me."

Mozzie raised his eyebrows.

"His words, not mine," Neal explained. He paused again, this time to take a sip of wine. "Moz, I'll be spending a lot more time at Peter's. They have a finished basement and we're turning it into an apartment—"

Moz sputtered. "What! Neal, what about this place? You'd trade life in Manhattan for a basement apartment in the suburbs?"

Neal gave him a look. "Brooklyn is not the suburbs."

"It's not the city."

Neal hesitated. "No," he admitted. "It's not the city."

Moz smirked. 'The city' always and only meant Manhattan; the boroughs just couldn't compare.

"Listen, I'm not giving up my rooms here," Neal assured him. "And I won't—not for a while. I have to see how things work out between Peter and me first. And if things do work out, I'm hoping June will rent these rooms to you. I'll find a way to help you with the payments, man. I'll need a place to go when Peter and I get on each other's nerves."

Moz rolled his eyes. "Newsflash, Neal. Things aren't going to work out between you and Peter. These kind of relationships never do. He'll crush himself with middle-class guilt, even if his wife approves. He'll hate hiding what he has with you—and he'll have to hide it, unless you think the Bureau will understand."

"We know we have to hide it," Neal said, his voice even. "And I know Peter's not used to the idea of an unconventional relationship. But that doesn't mean he can't get used to it."

"Oh yeah? And what happens when Mr. and Mrs. Suit hear the pitter-patter of little feet? Do you really think Peter will want to raise his kids while he has two spouses? He's going to dump you so fast your—"

"Stop," Neal interrupted.

Moz stared at him and then reluctantly closed his mouth.

"I—I have no idea what will happen if Peter and El have kids," Neal said, his voice low and halting. "I don't know how any of this will work out. But I do know you're crazy jealous because I've switched teams. I love you, Moz, but I can't be your partner in crime anymore."

"You haven't just switched teams, Neal. You're in a whole new ball game now—a game you're not going to win.

"Maybe not," he owned. Then he paused to flash Moz a dazzling, affectionate smile. "But whatever happens, you're still my friend, Moz. And I made Peter promise that you'll be welcome at his place. Let's talk about when you can come over for dinner."

~oOo~

Neal curled up under his covers, listening to Mozzie snoring from the couch. It was the first night since Saturday that he had slept alone; the first night since Saturday that Neal didn't have an opportunity to steal more than his half of the bed from Peter or sleep through the night safely trapped in the agent's arms.

He rubbed his feet together, conscious of the tracking anklet on his left ankle. He sighed, looking forward to the time when he could prove to Peter that he meant to stick around, anklet or not.

Of course, he had no guarantee that he and Peter would still be lovers by the time the anklet came off. Mozzie's predictions of doom-and-gloom might prove correct. But Neal meant to stick around regardless--and Peter had made it clear that he wanted him around regardless. Neal grinned, knowing that Peter would always consider him his property.

As for how long they would remain lovers . . . Neal would worry about that later. He and Kate had promised each other forever. Maybe he and Peter would have a better shot at eternity without any promises at all.

He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of Kate. Neal refused to believe, as Peter did, that Kate was purposely working against him--that she had never really loved Neal in the first place. Peter was prejudiced against her, that was all. He couldn't recognize the angle she was playing. Neal appreciated his jealousy, but he wasn't about to trust the man's instincts regarding her.

But it was still over between him and Kate, Neal told himself. She had broken up with him back when he was in prison. Maybe that was her choice, maybe it wasn't--either way, they weren't a couple now. Peter might think that would change if Kate crooked her finger at him, but Neal knew better.

At least he hoped he knew better. He still loved her, God help him. And he would find a way to get her out of danger; he'd find a way to keep her safe. But he wouldn't fall back into her arms.

Now if only he could convince Peter.

~oOo~

When Peter strode into Neal's rooms Thursday morning, the kid had June's Italian roast coffee at the ready. Peter grinned and kissed Neal lightly on the lips. "Morning, beautiful," he said.

"Morning," Neal answered, favoring him with a radiant smile. But then he nodded toward the couch.

Peter turned to find Haversham sitting there, dressed and sipping a coffee of his own. He was giving Peter a look of jealousy mixed with distaste. Peter just nodded at him. "Morning, Haversham."

"Morning," Haversham mumbled. Then he set down his coffee, stood up and took his coat. He bowed (with exaggerated dignity) in the general direction of both Peter and Neal, and took his leave of them.

"He doesn't look happy with our relationship," Peter commented as the door closed behind the short man.

"You knew he wouldn't be," Neal pointed out. "But he likes you well enough, for a suit, so he'll get over it. Now drink up your coffee--we don't want to be late."

Peter obeyed and then gave Neal a playful salute. "Yes, sir."

~oOo~

"We've got a lot of paperwork ahead of us today," Peter said as he threw an armful of files down on his desk. "And Jones is printing out more pages from a bunch of websites. We need to connect this guy--Michael Ramirez--with these scams."

Neal took a look at the paper Peter was pointing to, which listed an impressive number of cons. "You think we can get him on all of these?" he asked.

Peter shook his head. "I'll be happy if we can get him on one. This guy is smart--not as smart as you, but smart. Fortunately he's young and a bit of a show-off . . . also like you."

Neal winked at him, taking that for a compliment. "How long have you been after him?"

"He's been running these scams for at least two years, but he's only been on our radar for the past three months," Peter answered. He paused to shrug. "Like I said, he's good. Cruz and Jones have been handling most of the legwork."

Neal nodded and turned to the bio on Ramirez. He frowned a little as he read about the guy's childhood in Miami: shuffled from foster home to foster home, in and out of trouble--it was all too familiar.

He turned to the photos of the suspect. Michael's smile jumped out at Neal--good for him. A smile like that would always be a con artist's friend. Neal shook himself: he was working for the Bureau, not rooting for the criminal.

He was cute even apart from the smile, Neal decided. Cute and muscular with black hair and swarthy skin: nice combination. This was the kind of guy who might be able to give Neal some competition if they found themselves cruising in the same club.

Neal checked the suspect's birthday again. Yeah, Michael was younger than he was, but he looked older. Judging by the photos, he couldn't quite pull off the sweet, innocent look that Neal had mastered. Pity.

He looked up from the photos suddenly, feeling Peter's eyes on him. There was a curious smile on the agent's face.

"Comparing notes?" Peter asked.

Neal grinned. "Yeah--but don't worry. I know which side I'm working for."

"And I'll make sure you remember."

Neal's grin turned mischievous. "I look forward to the reminders."

~oOo~

Ten hours later, Peter was guiding Neal to the car. They hadn't made as much progress as they had hoped on Michael Ramirez, so there would be plenty more paperwork to sift through tomorrow. Neal stifled a groan as he climbed into Peter's car.

"Coming home tonight?" Peter asked as they buckled their seatbelts.

Neal felt a peculiar warmth spread over him at the word 'home.' A few years ago, he would never have guessed that home would mean Peter, Elizabeth and Satch in a snug house in Brooklyn. But now even June's house couldn't compare.

"Yes," he answered. "I'm allowed over even when Elizabeth has you scheduled for the night, right? Or do you two need your privacy?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Neal, you stayed over plenty of times before we were sleeping together. Besides, if we wanted privacy every second, we wouldn't have asked you to move in. We want your company."

"Then you won't mind helping me with the basement for a little while?"

Peter laughed. "Touché. Yeah, I'll help you. But then we'll kidnap you for some family time."

Neal let out a contented sigh. "Sounds like heaven."

Peter just smiled and, for once, kept his eyes on the road. Neal settled back in his seat, wondering how long this 'honeymoon' period with Peter would last. Not forever--he didn't need Moz's doom-and-gloom predictions to realize that. But how long did he have?

At length he decided it was best not to ask.


	2. Chapter 2

****

A Whole New Ballgame, Part Two

by J. Rosemary Moss

~oOo~

Elizabeth was the first up the following day; she was already sitting at the table when Neal came bounding down the stairs, Satchmo close behind. She smiled at the pair of them and nodded toward the cup of coffee she had set out for Neal.

"Thanks," he said, flashing that innocent, little-boy smile that always tugged at her heart. That, combined with his impeccable fashion sense, made her want to drink him in. This morning she decided to indulge herself. He was wearing that black turtle-neck of his--no one could blame her for finding him irresistible in it.

She shook her head at him as he sat down at the table. "No wonder you've got my husband wrapped around your finger."

He raised his eyebrows. "He was all yours last night--except when he, ah, tucked me in."

"And checked in on you later. He said you were curled up with Satchmo."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Your husband still thinks I'm a kid."

El nodded. "Don't pretend you don't love it."

Neal grinned as he sipped the coffee, apparently realizing he was caught. "Yeah, I love it. As long as he keeps thinking of me as a child, I can keep finding intriguing ways to remind him that I'm an adult."

He paused and suddenly his face became serious. "How is he with this, Elizabeth?"

She cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

He put the mug down and folded his hands on the table. "Has he crushed himself with Catholic, middle-class guilt yet?"

"He's a lapsed Catholic," she said carefully.

"You know that doesn't matter. It's the way he was raised, the way he thinks things should be--"

"Neal, Peter's more of a bad boy than you give him credit for."

That didn't seem to soothe the young man. He stared down at his coffee for a long moment, and then looked back up at El. "What if you two have children?" he asked. "Will I be out of the picture?"

She reached out and put a hand on his arm. "No. I'm hoping you'll be `Uncle Neal' to them."

"And how are you going to explain that Dad has a special relationship with Uncle Neal?"

"I don't know," she owned. "But we will explain it. Our kids will have to learn that families come in all different shapes and sizes."

Neal stared at her for a moment, as if trying to gauge her sincerity, but at length he nodded.

"Besides," Elizabeth continued, "Peter's more worried about taking advantage of you than he is about what to tell kids we don't even have yet."

"Oh yeah. I've heard his lecture about how much power he has over me."

She squeezed his arm and then released him. "He'll have that power for the next few years. But after that--"

Neal smiled. "I know. He told me that once my probation is over, I can tell him to go hell when he tries to check up on me. But I like the way he holds the leash, Elizabeth. Of course, I like testing the boundaries he sets too, but . . . " he shrugged, letting his words trail off.

"I think that's adorable--but just remember that aspect of your relationship is negotiable once your probation is up. You can be lovers without the leash."

"But where's the fun in that?" Neal asked, eyes sparkling. Then he leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a measuring look. "Who's really in charge between you two? Mostly I assume it's you, but every now and then I'm not so sure."

She winked at him. "Mostly I assume it's me too, but every now and then he proves me wrong. Peter can be sneaky that way."

"I can be sneaky in what way?" Peter asked, coming down the stairs.

"That's what we're trying to determine," Neal said, raising his eyebrows in a manner that was suggestive and teasing at the same time. Elizabeth tried to memorize that eyebrow lift for future use on her husband.

Peter grinned as he stepped up to Elizabeth. He bent down to kiss her and then repeated the ritual with Neal. He finished up by tousling Neal's hair and taking his own place at the table.

"Eat up," he told Neal, pushing a box of cereal toward him. "I want to get an early start on the Ramirez case today."

"The Ramirez case?" Elizabeth asked.

Neal nodded. "We're after a smart, competent con-artist named Michael Ramirez."

"Yeah, and just remember the 'after him' part," Peter said, pointing his fork at Neal in warning.

"Peter thinks I'm apt to forget which side I'm on," Neal explained to Elizabeth.

Her husband snorted. "I'm afraid you'll start identifying with a conman who's young, smart and too damn charismatic for his own good. Can you blame me?"

"Don't forget hot," Neal added. "Michael can't quite compare to me, but still . . ."

Elizabeth bit back a smile at Peter's exasperated look.

"Peter," Neal said, his voice soft and soothing, "I'm not going to over-identify with this guy. In fact, I've been up since early this morning checking the local obits. I've picked some wakes he'll find attractive." He paused to take another sip of coffee. "If we pay our respects, maybe we'll run into him."

"Obits?" Elizabeth repeated, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "He preys on the bereaved?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, most of his scams begin in funeral parlors."

She made a face. "Nice guy."

"Not so much," Peter said, looking pointedly at Neal.

Elizabeth watched Neal put his mug down. "Are you implying that once upon a time I wasn't such a nice guy?" he asked.

"You always had your nice moments," Peter said. "But, as it happens, I was implying that you shouldn't view Ramirez as a potentially nice guy. He's a bastard."

Neal didn't seem convinced. "He might be a little of both. I guess I was."

Peter gave him a look.

"But I know we have to catch him," Neal finished, taking the hint. "Ok, let me just have this cereal."

~oOo~

Neal stood back a bit while Peter kissed Elizabeth goodbye. It was a long, lingering kiss that should have made him jealous, but didn't. He couldn't even grudge Elizabeth for having Peter first. These two were so right together. Neal smiled, feeling honored that they had made room for him in their relationship.

Funny, Neal had always cherished the ideal of monogamy. For a while now he had been imagining that he would rescue Kate--perhaps with help from Moz, his faithful sidekick--and live happily ever after with her in romantic bliss.

Instead, he had gotten himself wrapped up in a relationship that could be described as polygamous. Well, not quite. Polygamy implied a man with more than one wife. Peter had one wife and one husband.

No, not husband. Neal and Peter hadn't made any vows to each other. Ok, then--Peter had one wife and one, well, partner. A partner who had promised to be faithful to him and him alone, even though Peter was faithful to two people.

Why didn't that bother Neal? More importantly, why didn't it bother Peter? Neal had an excuse, at least. Despite his romantic dreams of a happily ever after with Kate, he had a certain reflexive contempt for bourgeois ideals.

Ok, he didn't really. But the con artist in him felt that he should.

Peter, on the other hand--Peter was practically a walking advertisement for his Catholic, middle class upbringing. He might be a lapsed Catholic, but the basic moral values were still there. He'd been raised to believe in monogamy and honesty side by side with hard work and white picket fences.

But now Peter was involved in a polygamous relationship that he would have to keep hidden; there would be lies and deceit involved. Not among the three principle players, of course, but in the outside world.

That made the relationship more enticing to Neal--he loved keeping secrets and disguising the truth. But it would be tough on a straight-forward guy like Peter. And then there was Peter's obsessive worry about the power he had over Neal. The agent was still afraid he was somehow coercing him.

And there was the homosexual aspect of the relationship. In truth, though, Neal didn't think that bothered Peter, despite the Catholic upbringing. He was still surprised that Peter fell into a homosexual affair so easily, but he doubted that Peter had ever considered homosexuality a sin. The man didn't seem to be torturing himself about it, at any event.

Neal smiled to himself as Peter and Elizabeth finally broke apart. At least one aspect of their relationship could be guilt free.

~oOo~

Peter glanced at Neal as he fastened his seatbelt. The kid was staring out the window, lost in thought. Peter recognized that look: Neal was intrigued, perplexed and troubled all at once.

"Buckle up, Neal," Peter ordered, calling him back to the present.

Neal started, but then nodded and obeyed. Peter shook his head a little and started up the car.

They drove in silence for a while. Neal, as far as Peter could tell, was in the clouds again. Maybe that was just as well; Peter was busy negotiating the traffic over the Manhattan Bridge. But at length Neal spoke up.

"Did you think I was a bastard while you were chasing me?"

Peter raised his eyebrows. "A bastard? No, I never thought that."

"Why not? You were pursuing me for cons and forgeries, just like Ramirez. What makes him a bastard, but not me?"

Peter opened his mouth to offer a glib reply and maybe another warning not to over-identify with Ramirez. But a glance at Neal's expression made him bite it back. Neal wanted--and probably needed--a serious response from him.

Peter sighed. "You weren't malicious. You were just a thoughtless, selfish, thrill-seeking brat determined to show how smart you were. You were out to prove that you could outwit your marks and the FBI. But you weren't out to hurt anyone."

Neal stared at him. Peter could feel his eyes on him even as the agent turned back to the road.

"Is that why you didn't gloat about putting me behind bars?" Neal asked, his voice soft.

Peter felt a twinge of guilt. "Something's wrong with your memory, Caffrey. I gloated then, and I've been gloating ever since."

"No," Neal corrected him. "You gloat about the fact that you caught me. And you've threatened left and right to put me back in prison. But I never got the sense--well, it never seemed like you were happy to see me locked up."

"I wasn't," Peter admitted. "Even then, I thought you needed a good spanking more than a prison sentence. But you caused a lot of harm, Neal--and I knew you'd have to pay for that behind bars."

"Is that how you feel about Ramirez?"

"No. Believe it or not, you're the only con artist I ever wanted to spank."

Neal grinned. "I know that. I meant--well, are you going to be happy to put Ramirez behind bars?"

"Yeah, I think I will be."

"Why? Is he that different from me?"

Peter shrugged. "You ruined some people, financially, but I don't think you ever went out of your way to do so."

"You think Ramirez does?"

"You've seen what we suspect him of. What do you think?"

The boy hesitated. "If he's guilty of everything the Bureau thinks he is, then he's ruined a lot of people. And--well, there's a personal touch to it that might be malicious. He's been romantically involved with a most of his marks, wining and dining them before leaving them devastated. And it looks like he makes sure to leave them both financially and emotionally devastated."

"Well, there's your answer."

Neal nodded and fell silent for another few minutes. "Peter?" he asked at last.

"Yeah?"

Neal turned his head to stare at him. "I still love cons, Peter. I still love testing my wits against marks."

"I know. But now your marks are the bad guys," Peter said. "That's the difference."

The kid sighed. "Seems like too fine a distinction."

"Maybe," Peter owned. "But there's nothing wrong with your skill in chicanery, Neal. Hell, I admire it. It's just--it's all in how you use it."

"You admire it?"

Peter swore under his breath. Neal would never let him live that admission down. "You've known all along that I do," he managed. "You're smart--and you know how much I like smart."

"Ramirez is smart."

"Not as smart as you," Peter assured him. "Now, tell me about the most promising obits. I want an up-close look at how Ramirez operates."


	3. Chapter 3

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A Whole New Ball Game, Part Three

by J. Rosemary Moss

~oOo~

Peter sighed contentedly as he pulled a sleeping Neal closer to him. He didn't want to curse himself, but so far their arrangement seemed to be working. Neal was moved into the basement now and he had decorated to his own exacting standards, albeit with much input from Elizabeth. Peter had to admire the result, even though his bank account had taken a blow. Neal and El had a flair.

But the cost didn't matter. If it made Neal happy and kept him in easy reach, it was more than worth it. Of course, the kid still had his place at June's. But that was fine; he would give that up when he was ready.

Peter felt his mind drifting back to work. It had taken Neal over a month to get the basement to his liking--and that month had brought them no closer to Ramirez. Neal's idea of canvassing wakes and funerals was a good one, but so far it hadn't borne any fruit.

Peter bit his lip. Ramirez liked to find his marks when they were overcome with grief--they were more vulnerable that way. Not that it was necessary; he could and sometimes did seduce his way into a mark's good graces without the bereavement. But a grief-stricken mark was more likely to turn to him for comfort, and more likely to follow his advice as to the disposal of an estate.

Several of Ramirez's ex-lovers had filed complaints about him, but the Bureau still had nothing to pin on him. Yeah, Ramirez had milked these sugar daddies and sugar mommies--but that wasn't illegal. The Bureau couldn't even charge him with prostitution. He may have been kept, but he had never explicitly traded sexual favors for monetary compensation.

Meanwhile, all these ex-lovers had suffered robberies while involved with Ramirez or had gotten hoodwinked by one scam or another. Ramirez, it seemed, would choose the mark, establish himself, and, at length, alert the appropriate compatriot to lift expensive pieces or lure the mark into crooked investments. But his hands stayed clean.

Peter furrowed his brow. They might catch a glimpse of Ramirez by paying their respects at high-end wakes, but it was going to be tough to link him to specific cons. Not impossible, though. The guy would trip up and get his hands dirty sooner or later. Hell, Peter was pretty sure he already had--they just hadn't found the evidence yet.

Peter sighed and glanced down at Neal. He indulged himself in a fit of sheer possessiveness as he pulled the conman even closer to him, as if it were possible to share the same skin. He remembered the thrill of chasing Neal, trying to connect him to multiple cases of fraud and forgery. But to have him here, safe in his arms--this was much more satisfying.

Peter shook his head as he felt Neal's anklet pressing into his leg. As much as he loved the ability to track Neal's every move, he wouldn't mind the day when it came off for good. He trusted Neal without the anklet now; when a case demanded its removal, he no longer gnashed his teeth worrying that the kid would run. As far as he could tell, Neal was right where he wanted to be.

And he would remain there--as long as Kate didn't tempt him into screwing up a good thing.

~oOo~

Peter woke up a while later to the sound of Vivaldi. Apparently that was Neal's alarm clock. Peter grinned and tried to stretch--that's when he discovered that he was handcuffed to Neal's bedposts.

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Damn sneaky con.

"Nice," he grouched. "Now I know why you insisted on such an old fashioned bed frame."

Neal nibbled on his side. "It has a quaint appeal, don't you think?"

Peter had to force himself not to moan as Neal continued his love bites. "These better not be real handcuffs, Caffrey."

Neal glanced up at him with a reproving pout. "Now, Peter," he said. "You know they're not--they're from a shop in the Village. You can slip out of them if you want to."

"Do they sell paddles at that shop?" Peter asked in a pointed, warning voice.

"Why?" Neal asked, his blue eyes the picture of innocence. "Would you like me to punish you with one?"

Peter laughed despite himself. "That's not quite what I had in mind."

Neal raised his eyebrows as he nipped Peter again. "You might find it intriguing to let me discipline you for a change."

"Not in the least."

"I can talk you into it," Neal said, undaunted.

"Shut up, Caffrey, and put your mouth to better use."

~oOo~

Neal settled into the passenger seat of Peter's Taurus and stretched out his legs. Traffic was heavy this morning--it would take a while to get over the Manhattan Bridge. He almost felt sorry for Peter; driving in these conditions was no fun. In fact, the agent was already wearing his annoyed look.

"I found another wake for us to check out," Neal announced, trying to take Peter's mind off their slow progress. "Well, it's not actually a wake. It's a shiva visit. I feel good about this one."

"A shiva visit?" Peter repeated. "No thanks. I wouldn't know what to do."

"Why not? Don't you have any Jewish friends or relatives?"

"Yeah, but none of them have ever sat shiva--not as far as I know. They just have regular wakes."

"Oh. Well, don't worry--these folks aren't Orthodox. It should be like a regular wake, except that it will be in their home and there won't be a coffin. We'll blend."

But Peter shook his head. "Paying our respects at a public funeral parlor is one thing--we have no business going into someone's home on the off chance of meeting Ramirez."

Neal rolled his eyes. Peter and his pesky scruples. "But this is his style! It's a Park Avenue address in the 1100's--you know, one of those buildings where each apartment might as well be a mansion. And this family has quite a collection, including a Monet." He paused to shake his head, contemplating the possibilities. "I'll bet Ramirez has plenty of friends who would like to get their hands on a real Monet."

Peter favored him with a suspicious glance. "How would you know about the Monet?"

"Word gets around in the art world," Neal answered with a shrug. "Look, Ramirez is good. He might be a poor kid from Miami, but he's never had any problem hobnobbing with the upper crust. And it will be especially easy for him with this family."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Because they're not stereotypical Park Avenue types. They have friends from all walks of life. They even belong to a poor, funky synagogue over on the Upper West Side."

Peter grunted. "What, you're an expert on synagogues now?"

"I've been to my share--and I know others by reputation."

"Why? Last time I checked, you weren't a Jew."

Neal grinned. "No, but one of my aliases is."

Peter swore under his breath. "Don't say anything more! I don't want to know."

"Don't worry," Neal said soothingly, doing his best to smother the grin. "I never seriously broke the law with that alias--he was more an identity to retreat to. Otherwise I wouldn't have mentioned him."

Peter responded with another grunt as he changed lanes to avoid a taxi.

"Anyway," Neal continued, "Ramirez won't be able to pass up the chance to comfort someone from this family."

Peter furrowed his brow. "I don't know, Neal. I can't see a reason to invade someone's home on a hunch."

Neal put on his best lost-puppy look. "Please, Peter? Lots of people will be traipsing in and out--this family has tons of friends. And the deceased was quite the philanthropist--I can come up with a dozen reasons we might have known him. Why shouldn't we pay our respects?"

Peter glanced at him, took in the puppy dog eyes, and then sighed. "Ok, fine. Tell me about the deceased."


	4. Chapter 4

****

A Whole New Ball Game, Part Four

by J. Rosemary Moss

~oOo~

Peter smiled to himself as Neal worked the room. That was the only way to describe the way the kid glided about, displaying a sympathetic smile as he shook hands with the family and friends of the deceased. They probably never even realized that he was a stranger to them.

Hell, even the doorman and the elevator guy had seemed charmed by the con artist. Not that Peter could blame them; he knew just how irresistible Caffrey was.

A small part of Peter worried that Neal was still running a con; that his work for the FBI was just an angle. Hell, he was pretty sure it had started out that way. But Peter couldn't bring himself to believe that it was a still a scam. Or if it was--well, maybe Neal had scammed himself; maybe he had turned into the good guy he was pretending to be.

At any rate, Neal's affection for him--Peter didn't dare think of it as love yet, especially since Neal had never used the word--was real. Peter remembered how Neal could barely conceal his anger back when he thought Peter had betrayed him . . . and how the kid had blurted out his suspicions instead of conning Peter or running away.

The agent smiled to himself. Yeah, their relationship was for real.

Peter spoke to a couple of people, murmuring the right words about the deceased. Well, at least Neal had been correct, he reflected. There were all sorts of people here to pay their respects. It wasn't just family and close friends.

Suddenly Neal was at his side again. "Let's take a seat toward the back," he whispered. "There's going to be a service."

Peter nodded and found two unobtrusive chairs tucked away in the corner of the room. Neal handed him a yarmulke and a clip for it.

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Where'd this come from?"

"There's a box of them over by the door."

"Where's yours?" Peter demanded.

Neal grinned and pointed to his fedora. "I don't need one."

Ok, the kid had a point. Peter clipped on the yarmulke without further complaint. Then he leaned back and looked around the room. It was immense, with handsome furnishings and rich, tasteful decorations. Even the extra chairs, set up for the service, seemed sumptuous. And, yeah, one of the paintings was a Monet. There were also important people milling about; Peter recognized some big-shots in city politics. Not the mayor, but Peter wouldn't be surprised if he dropped in.

Still, the room wasn't half so intriguing without Caffrey lighting it up.

The apartment had belonged to the deceased: Jacob Felder. Jake to his friends. He seemed to have been a decent guy. He made his fortune on Wall Street and, upon retirement, devoted himself to various causes and charities. The homeless of New York City had been his chief concern; apparently his wife and daughter meant to carry on that tradition.

Peter studied the daughter; Sarah was her name. She was in her early thirties and, unlike her mother, was more down-to-earth than beautiful. Although her mother had the coiffed hair and manicured nails that suited a Park Avenue address, Sarah had more of a casual, athletic look. She was probably more into running marathons than choosing nail polish, Peter decided. She was talking quietly to her mother at the moment, but her eyes kept straying toward the door. She was waiting for someone.

Sarah's grey eyes lit up suddenly, and Neal chose that same moment to elbow Peter in the ribs. Peter grunted and looked toward the door, where both Neal and Sarah were staring.

Michael Ramirez was strolling in. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter caught Neal shooting a triumphant glance at him; that was Neal's way of silently boasting. Peter bit back a grin. He had to give the kid credit for this one.

Ramirez nodded at a couple of people but headed straight toward Sarah. She took his hands in her own and kissed him lightly on the mouth before releasing him.

"Looks like he's already acquainted with the Felders," Neal whispered.

Peter furrowed his brow. "What's that he's carrying?"

"A tallis bag," Neal answered, frowning. "You carry your prayer shawl in it."

"But Ramirez is Catholic. I've been to enough bar mitzvas to know that you don't have to wear a prayer shawl if you're not Jewish."

"You don't," Neal agreed, his eyes glued to Ramirez.

A man with a beard claimed the attention of the room just then to announce that the service was about to start. People began handing out soft-covered prayer books. Some men--plus a few women--put on prayer shawls, murmuring under their breath as they did so. A smaller amount of men strapped phylacteries onto their heads and onto one arm-- but of the women, only Sarah followed suit. Maybe women didn't wear them traditionally; maybe Sarah was making a feminist statement.

Ramirez, meanwhile, wore both. That fact wasn't lost on Neal. "He's wearing a tallit and tefillin," he whispered. "Peter, he must have known Sarah Felder for a while. He must have converted for her."

Peter guessed that the tallit was the prayer shawl and the phylacteries were the tefillin. "Converted to Judaism, you mean? Doesn't that take a while?"

"About a year, I'd guess."

"He wouldn't go through that trouble unless he's talked her into marrying him--but I don't see an engagement ring."

"No, but she doesn't look like the jewelry type."

Peter considered that. "True," he owned.

"I'll bet she's so wrapped around his finger that she hasn't even asked for a pre-nup," Neal said. "Watch how she looks at him."

Peter sighed. "That's not our problem."

Neal looked shocked. "What do you mean?"

"Our job is to keep sifting through evidence until we can nail him for a crime," Peter explained, still keeping his voice to a whisper. "It's not illegal to talk a girl into marrying you without a pre-nup."

"But--"

"Look, at least we know where Ramirez is now and what he's up to. But we have to leave him alone until we find some kind of evidence against him. That's why we have to keep pouring over those old scams."

"But Peter--"

"No buts," Peter warned. "Now just keep your head down. We'll leave right after the service."

Neal opened his mouth to object again, but Peter gave him a look. Fortunately, that seemed to subdue the boy. He shrugged his shoulders and turned to the prayer book as the man with the beard--presumably the rabbi--began speaking.

The service was mostly sung or chanted in Hebrew, with a few English passages here and there. Peter just read the English translations and stood up when everyone else did. Neal, on the other hand, was doing a pretty good job of faking his way through.

But Neal wasn't as good as Ramirez. The guy sat next to Sarah Felder, holding her hand throughout. He seemed to know the service and he seemed to be able to read the Hebrew.

Peter bit his lip. It was interesting to see Ramirez in action. Peter knew from his files that the guy never posed as something he wasn't; all his marks, no matter how rich they were, had known that he was a poor kid from Miami. Now Peter understood how he managed to get so many upper-crust doors to open for him.

Ramirez was no Neal--no one alive radiated charm the way Neal did. But Ramirez obviously wasn't ashamed of where he came from. He was comfortable in his own skin (or at least he gave that impression.) And sometimes that was enough to open doors.

True, some wealthy patrons had probably wanted him only as a temporary plaything. Peter almost couldn't blame him for scamming them. And some patrons had probably adopted him as their token Latino friend--or maybe their token poor, working-class-background friend. Or both. But some of his patrons had genuinely wanted the best for him; that was probably true of Sarah Felder.

The service ended shortly after the Mourner's Kaddish. Peter unclipped the yarmulke and turned to Neal, ready to leave. But Neal was giving him an odd look.

"We have to do something, Peter," he said softly.

"The best thing we can do is to catch this guy by the book," Peter told him.

Neal turned his head toward Ramirez again, who was un-strapping his tefillin while talking with Sarah and her mother. The three of them, plus some other guy, were laughing quietly at something or other. .

But Ramirez must have felt Neal's eyes on him. He turned and stared at the conman, questioningly at first--but then his dark eyes lit up in recognition.

Neal simply smiled and nodded, as if he'd just been scanning the room and his eyes had found Ramirez by accident. But Ramirez kept staring at Neal; he didn't seem to notice Peter. Either that or he didn't feel that Peter warranted his attention.

At length Ramirez turned away--but it was with an air of dissatisfaction.

"Why does our guy know you?" Peter whispered.

"I don't know," Neal whispered back. "He's never met me. As far as I know, he's never seen me before."

Peter glanced down at Neal's left ankle--no, the anklet wasn't showing. That wasn't what had attracted Ramirez's attention.

"All right," Peter said, keeping his voice low and even. "Let's get out of here."

But Neal shook his head.

"Neal--"

The ex-con flashed Peter his most seductive smile, patted the agent on the arm and then stood up and sauntered straight toward Sarah Felder and Michael Ramirez.

Peter swore under his breath. He didn't know what Caffrey had in mind, but he better not announce the FBI's suspicions. Even if he wasn't that stupid, Peter intended to make him realize the extent of his displeasure later on.

God, he couldn't wait to get that kid home.


	5. Chapter 5

****

A Whole New Ballgame, Part Five

by J. Rosemary Moss

~oOo~

Michael Ramirez folded his arms as Neal walked up to him. Then, with a sardonic lift of his eyebrows, he turned to Sarah. "We've got a celebrity criminal here," he said. "This is Neal Caffrey."

Neal smiled, making sure he appeared amused rather than offended. "Have we met?"

"No. I recognize you because you made the front page when you jumped out of that judge's office."

That called for a slightly embarrassed grin; Neal managed it, along with an adorable blush. "Ultimately they cleared me of the diamond heist I was arrested for," he told Sarah. "They got the real guy." Then he turned back to Ramirez, holding out his hand. "And you are?"

Ramirez looked at Neal's hand, appraising it. "Michael Ramirez," he said at last. "Didn't you serve time for fraud before your last arrest? And don't you have a reputation as an art forger and thief?"

Neal pulled off an elegant shrug. "I've never been convicted of any art theft or art forgery." He paused to give Ramirez a measuring look. "Why the extensive knowledge of an alleged art criminal?"

Michael grinned. "Let's say I don't trust you anywhere near the stuff on our walls."

"Our walls?" Neal asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. Should I be congratulating you two?"

"Yes," Sarah managed, looking out of her depth as her eyes darted from one man to the other. "Michael and I are engaged."

"Mazel tov," Neal said, using the Israeli pronunciation.

"Thank you," Sarah said. "I'm sorry, but I--I didn't hear how you knew my father."

Neal allowed his eyes to soften. "Your father was a good man. I was homeless for a few months in the city. I remember how he not only supported the soup kitchen I went to but worked there himself. We got to talking and--well, he helped me out."

Sarah's eyes reflected a mixture of pride in her father and sympathy for Neal--she believed him. Ramirez, however, wasn't buying the story.

"Touching," he said. "I'd love to hear more about your interactions with him. Why don't you hang around a bit--we'll grab some lunch."

Sarah looked nervous at that; presumably she didn't like the idea of her fiancé keeping company with a convicted felon. Michael gave her a reassuring look that must of worked; Sarah didn't voice her objections.

"It's a date," Neal said, looking at Ramirez as if the man were his best friend in the world.

~oOo~

Neal's triumphant smile faltered as he walked back to Peter. His partner must have overheard every word of his conversation with Sarah and Ramirez--and he didn't look pleased.

"That went well, don't you think?" Neal whispered as he came up to Peter's side.

"I ordered you not to talk to Ramirez," Peter whispered back. "What part of that order didn't you understand?"

It wasn't a yelling kind of whisper. It was a Peter-has-his-anger-under-tight-control kind. That boded ill for Neal; Peter wasn't going to blow up at him, he was going to find a way to punish him instead. Neal knew Peter wouldn't send him back to prison--not for this offense, anyway--but he might be angry enough to restrict Neal's radius.

"Peter," he said soothingly, "I had to talk to him. I had to find out why he recognized me. And who knows what I might find out over lunch?" Ramirez might incriminate himself--Neal didn't add that, but he knew he didn't have to.

"You better keep our investigation under wraps."

Peter's voice still had that tight quality. Neal was in for it. If he was really lucky, Neal could talk Peter into spanking him when they got home. A spanking would arouse both men and Peter's anger would dissipate in the bedroom. But if Neal wasn't lucky . . . well, no use borrowing trouble.

"I will," Neal promised.

"And you better come straight back to the office after your 'date.'"

"I will."

"I'll be waiting."

~oOo~

"So you've turned into an FBI snitch."

It wasn't a question--not the way Ramirez said it. Neal raised his eyebrows.

"Don't waste that innocent look on me," Ramirez advised, leaning forward as he set his menu aside. "Your anklet isn't that well hidden. Besides, the papers had a lot to say about you."

Neal cursed inside his head. Just his luck that Ramirez would prove to be so conscientious about reading up on him. But he would, wouldn't he? One conman always had an interest in another.

"Working for the Feds isn't a bad life," Neal said with a nonchalant shrug.

Ramirez gave him a pointed look. "You got a good thing going, huh? Yeah, you do. I saw the way you interacted with that Fed pal of yours--and I saw the way he watched over you."

Neal considered denying that Peter was a Fed, but quickly dismissed the idea. Somebody might as well stamp 'FBI agent' on Peter's forehead--at least when the man was dressed for work.

Neal shrugged again as he took a sip of his water. "Peter's a good guy. I like working for him."

"Yeah? Well, if he's investigating me, you can tell him not to bother. I've got a good thing going too--and I'm not stupid enough to wreck it."

Neal narrowed his eyes. He could pretend not to know what Ramirez was talking about--but that would be pointless. Michael wasn't an idiot. Thanks to the fact that he had recognized Neal, he now knew that the Feds were looking into him. Neal swallowed. Peter would be even less pleased when he found out.

"Your MO is to seduce your marks and then have your buddies con them or rob them," Neal said, trying to put Peter out of his mind.

Ramirez snorted. "Why would I want someone to con or rob my fiancée? Everything she owns will be mine too next month."

"So this is for real? You're not planning to screw her over?"

"No, I'm not."

"Did she ask you to sign a pre-nup?"

"No."

"Then you could screw her over and walk away with half of everything."

"I could," Ramirez admitted. "And if I did, it wouldn't be any of the FBI's business. Marriages fall apart all the time--there's nothing illegal about that." He paused to take a sip of his drink. "But I'm not going to walk out on Sarah. I like her. I like being part of her family. Why would I walk out?"

Neal considered that. Ramirez looked sincere, but that wasn't hard for a conman. On the other hand, Ramirez had a vested interest in staying with Sarah and protecting her from any scams. "So all this is for real? Your engagement, your conversion--all of it?"

Ramirez sighed and looked away for a moment. "Yeah, it's all for real," he said at last, looking Neal in the eyes again. "I'm going to stay with Sarah and raise a family with her. I'm going to send my kids to Hebrew school. Satisfied?"

Neal stalled by pretending to look over his menu again. He thought about Peter and Elizabeth and what they had together. And what, maybe, he had with them. Damn it, was he just over-identifying with Ramirez again?

At length he set the menu aside and nodded. "Yeah, I'm satisfied. You want the white picket fence, huh?"

Ramirez grinned. "I want the Park Avenue version of the white picket fence."

Neal grinned back. "Complete with the Monet on the wall. Nice."

"Yeah--you stay away from that wall."

"Don't worry about me. I'm on the straight and narrow now."

"Me too. So will you tell your Fed pal to lay off?"

"He won't," Neal warned. "But if you stay clean, man, he won't have anything on you. Not unless he can link you to an old job."

"Hey, man," Ramirez said, holding up his hands, "there's nothing to link me to."

Neal grinned again. "Don't worry--I'm not wearing a wire."

Ramirez probably didn't believe that, but it didn't matter. They kept to innocuous topics for the rest of the lunch and parted amiably. Ramirez even picked up the check.

Neal left the restaurant slowly. He was in no rush to confront Peter. Not only would his lover still be pissed at him for disobeying a direct order--he would be disappointed that Neal had bought Ramirez's innocent act. But Neal couldn't help it. He believed the guy. Why would Ramirez want to leave a woman like Sarah? But maybe Neal was selling Peter short. Maybe Peter would understand. He had Elizabeth, after all; he knew, first hand, what a difference the right woman could make.

But Peter was still going to be pissed with Neal for disobeying him. Neal slowed his steps again, thinking of ways to seduce Peter into forgetting his anger. He sighed. It was a shame he had to meet Peter back at the office. It would be damn hard to seduce him out of his anger there.

Neal stopped in his tracks, heedless of the other people on the street who almost bumped into him. He smiled suddenly. It would be damn hard--but that's what would make it so much fun.


End file.
